


exposure therapy

by tangerinesilly



Series: exposure therapy [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Painplay, Public Blow Jobs, Smut, Voice Kink, gum chewing, gum sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinesilly/pseuds/tangerinesilly
Summary: Maybe Billy’s hell was ice cold, where Steve’s was ablaze. But they shivered the same.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: exposure therapy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023130
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	exposure therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, finished this! It’s a bit off-key, but I want to be done with the first part. Hopefully, I’ll manage the other two a bit quicker. No beta, so feel free to point out any mistakes :)

The Hawkins library was dead quiet, all of the wood crutching itself together just to loom over Steve. The ceiling seemed to go on forever ending in a layer of fresh red paint. Odd choice. But who he is to judge, his own walls covered in plaid. 

The red hovered, forming vivid clouds, seemingly ready to rain every time Steve looked up. He anticipated that a drop would land right on his forehead with a bloody splat. 

Was it usually this quiet? Steve didn’t know. He last was here when-. _Oh._ The last time he was here was back when he still dated Nancy. 

And frankly, he didn’t really notice a lot of things about a lot of things back then. Because he was dumb and eager. Which he doesn’t regret that much just embarrassed mostly. 

He didn’t really notice the library stuffed full of dust. Social cues. That his friends were assholes. The monsters lurking in shadows. And Nancy slipping away, making heart eyes at another guy. 

Steve felt his leg going up and down under a giant mahogany desk. It rattled with his efforts, his sneakers screeching on the polished floor from time to time. And every time it happened he was met with a “ _Shush_ ” from Ms. Dixon.

He tried to breathe in but thought better of it, the stale air making him choke. Breathing also makes noise. He tried to time his inhales with turning the pages of the book he couldn’t read a word of but just ended up flailing and not breathing at all. 

He finally gave up and had a coughing fit, the room spinning just a bit. He heard the wheelies of the cart stopped right by him. 

Ms. Dixon shushed at him once again, poise as ever. “Mr. Harrington,” she half-whispered. “You are disturbing the other visitors,” and gave him a pointed look.

“Sorry, gha-” he coughed again, eyes watery, “this story is just so emotional. Speaks right to my soul.” 

Ms. Dixon looked at the book he was holding with a small smile “Don’t overstrain yourself, Mr. Harrington. Some have a built-in allergy to Marxism.” before moving on. 

Steve sneezed and turned the book over, giving the cover a long dumb look. _Das Kapital._ What the hell is that? Come to think of it. Steve peered at the grainy black and white photo on the back cover. The guy didn’t look half bad. He’d totally do him. He was Santa Claus hot. Hell. He’d really do Santa. Theoretically!

Steve sunk into his seat. This was not working. He didn’t dare to look up, because he’d unavoidably creep on Ms. Dixon. 

And if Steve dared to close his eyes even for just a second he immediately entered the moist red grotto of his sexual frustration. With a neon sign at the entrance – can’t get off. 

The Upside Down business got him all sorts of fucked up. The nightmares, paranoia, loneliness. That was fine and dandy. That’s by the book classic of dealing with the tough stuff. He can rebuild. The kids –El – had it so much worse. He couldn’t even complain really. 

The worst of it started to fade from his memories anyway, basically now existing as this blazing hot pile of black goo somewhere in his brain. Sometimes his mind forgot to flush and that shit just spewed back at him. But hey, at least the pipeline worked and he could chuck the most of it down and not think about it for some time. 

But the lines got crisscrossed somewhere. The clog happened. And now Steve is… horny. Like all the time. Just raging hard-ons. Why? He doesn’t know. Is it the second puberty? Is he turning into some sexual deviant that the TV loves to point fingers at?

All he knows is that whenever he tries to reach for any emotion all he comes up with is a painfully wet dick. Happiness or sadness, apathy, or anger – all gets bullied out by the itch and throb. He’s constantly soaking through his briefs and occasionally, if something rattles him really hard, through his jeans. 

If Santa is real and can hear him right now Steve’s only wish is to have dry underwear again. And maybe sit in his lap. 

He for sure doesn’t want to tell anyone about it. He doesn’t really have an option to tell anyone. Who’s he gonna turn to? Nancy? Fuck no. 

Maybe Carol or Tommy. But they are on a tight schedule of being down each other’s throats and in love to hear Steve out. They won’t get it.

The other person who could be his confidante in all things dick is the family physician Mr. Strowghker.

Who is a mouthbreather that can’t keep his mouth shut. In the trying times when Steve was all green and new to this whole hole fucking thing, who did he go to? To Mr. Strowghker with his open heart. And an STD scare. And what did he get in return? The whole family discussing his chlamydia over dinner. Fucker. Strictly-confidential-just-between-you-and-me-policy bullshit! 

Steve sunk even deeper into the chair, almost lying on the floor, defeated. 

Yep. He’s on his own in this one. Well, not really on his own. He looked down under the desk, where he was chubbing up already. 

From what? The wind? Maybe there was a ghost fluffer following him. Just tugging at his dick while he isn’t looking. 

Steve's brain immediately perked at the idea. Well, maybe it is a sexy ghost? Maybe he wouldn’t mind a hot redhead ghost tugging at him. 

Steve dick twitched in unison, spurring him to escalate further. Maybe he could rub one out quickly. In the bathroom. His eyes darted to its general direction, already making plans. Not good. 

Steve shook his head, trying to cool it. He couldn’t be caught with his dick out in the fucking library. He’ll get locked for indecent exposure. And then his dad will know that he’s a freak. And then he’ll make him go to a shrink. And then they’ll say it has something to do with him wanting to crawl back into his mom and be born backward as a garden gnome. 

Steve gaged. Okay yeah, this worked. The blood rushed back to his head with a woosh. 

Steve's hands remembered that they were clutching something – the book. Its pages started to get wavy from his clammy fingers. Ms. Dixon is going to kick him out for sure. 

He flipped through the pages back and forth, trying to at least guess the genre of the read. Maybe revise the alphabet. Catch up on some breathing. 

Just as Steve’s pulse was getting under control the chair opposite of him moved turning it back up again. Someone set on the other side, the old seat cracking under the weight.

“Wow, if it isn’t the one and only. Harrington, you can read?” Billy Hargrove loudly popped some gum, lounging in his seat. 

Steve clutched at the book harder, effectively crumpling it. Of course of all the people he really didn’t want to run into… Just like a charm – a curse – Hargrove crawled out of somewhere.

Steve sighed, already tired with the whole thing. He hid behind the book, pretending it’s a fortress. Hargrove will get bored eventually finding someone else to pick on. 

Billy chewed on, rocking in his chair, daring the legs to snap. 

His brow lifted curiously at the book. “Since when are you a commy?” he whispered like it was a swear word. 

To Steve’s annoyance, his ears perked at that, hyper-focusing on the sound. It’s like Billy was talking into a tunnel directly connected to his ears. He stilled, biting at his bottom lip, ducking his face away from the prying blues.

“That’s like…” he blew a bubble thoughtfully, “playing for the wrong team,” just to pull it in his mouth again. _Gross._

Steve could feel those pops in his ear canals. Way too deeply. 

“If any of that shit goes down you’d be on the wrong side of things.” Billy went on, still whispering, dragging his tone deeper. But if you’re looking for ways to get rid of your trust fund,” he winked, “I’m your guy.” 

Steve sighed, his ears steadily going pink. Tingling from the inside. He desperately wanted to cover them, but then he’d have to let go of his cover. The pages before him swam and swirled. 

A waft of some sweet berry hit him when Hargrove opened his mouth again. 

Billy yawned. “You know… that’s all bullshit,” he shrugged unbothered by Steve’s lack of response. He leaned in, whispering conspiratiously “Anarchy is the way,” lips spreading in a lopsided grin, kissing around the A, before moving on. 

God, it’s like the dude got off on hearing his own voice. Steve felt those _s’s_ and _b’s_ in his spine. All he wanted for Billy to fuck right off. Or keep talking. 

He never took the time to hear what Hargrove had to say. Let alone pay attention to _how_ he said those things. But now he’s all ears. 

Billy’s gaze wandered off nowhere in particular. “All we really need is one hell of a fire. Burn it all to the ground and start over,” he said wistfully. 

His eyes skipped over the room, maybe searching for a match. Steve sneaked a peak over the book while he was looking away.

The problem was that- 

He looked... good. 

Hargrove was loud. An angry drunk. A mean punch. All of which Steve found out the hard way. He was so much red, Steve didn’t really see the guy behind it. 

So when he walked in here today he didn’t expect to come face to face with Hargrove’s sultry whispers about the next Armageddon. He didn’t expect to be hard from it either.

But red was Billy’s color. The crimson backdrop brought out his hair and eyes nicely. He’d look even better with a pair of pointy horns. 

Billy’s voice was doing things for Steve. And maybe Billy was doing it for Steve. He glanced down at his dick. Traitor. This was the last straw. He was truly cursed. 

Billy’s eyes returned shiny and bright, hungry for something. He noticed Steve looking. 

Steve doubled down trying to appear busy, hiding behind the heavy tome. The castle was under attack, and there were wolves at the door. Billy licked his teeth, boring into Steve’s forehead. 

Steve didn’t budge. 

“Hey, dumbass. Don’t be rude. We’re having a conversation,” Billy tried to kick him under the table, but they were too far apart.

Steve snorted at that, eyes finally catching Billy’s. 

“Imagine all of it gone,” he gestured with his hand. Steve couldn’t look away. “Your mommy, sweet McMansion, all your pink polos...” he started putting down fingers. “Stupid town, country, world. Gone in a puff. Just ash and suit, pretty boy,” his mouth stretched in a dreamy smirk. The air lingered with his words, smoky and warm.

“Not even a bone left,” he concluded, snapping his fingers as if a light would appear at his fingertips. “What would you do?”

He peered into Steve’s eyes, finally getting his attention. 

Steve peered right back, answering that glacier void. He felt cold all over as if taking a dip. The tide rippled, revealing the undercurrent of hollowness. 

Once down under it was obvious – Billy was freezing. And the world's biggest fire probably wouldn’t warm him up. 

Maybe Billy’s hell was ice cold, where Steve’s was ablaze. But they shivered the same.

Billy simply latched onto what was the warmest. Steve wanted to take a chunk out of that icicle to cool down. Munch on snow until he is numb. Lean into the wall of ice melting it with a whoosh. That what Steve would do.

Steve licked his chapped lips, Hargrove, following the motion, getting hot under the color himself. Good. Feel the heat. 

It was too intense. Billy’s mouth hung open, nostrils flaring out with the heavy breathing. He looked ready to pounce. 

“I would…” Steve started to whisper. 

They unzapped like two Norths as Mr. Dixon returned with her cart loud on the ears. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, suspiciously eyeing Steve. 

“Yes, ma'am,” Billy was shamelessly checking her out in the meantime, popping his gum, as nothing happened. She didn’t shush at him for his obnoxious chewing, just passed on, when Steve nodded.

The pause got awkward, tying knots into Steve’s stomach. As she left, Billy leaned forward. “What’s with you anyway?” He reached over the table, trying to pry the book from Steve’s hold. A part of Steve’s face peeked from the opening. 

“Why are you so red all of a sudden?” Billy didn’t let go of the cover, tugging, and tugging. Until Steve let go and Billy stumbled back with it. 

Steve couldn’t stop squirming, clutching his thighs together, his dick steadily leaking. This was getting him rattled alright. 

The barrier between them gone, Billy glanced over the table, right into Steve’s lap, one of the brows raising. _Oh_. 

Steve guessed he looked sick. And delirious. Maybe he should admit himself to a hospital and let the doctors deal with his _problem_. Decide what’s wrong with him. Because all he wants to do is for Billy to keep talking and popping his gum. Looking at him like he just did. 

Billy lingered, deciding something, before leaning back into his seat. He pulled the gum out of his mouth securing it behind his ear for later. His eyes languidly scanned the room rendering the coast clear. He slid a random pen off the table dramatically sighing “Oops” and dove in after it. 

Everything stilled. Steve felt the clump in his throat. The texture of the wood under his hands. How blood seemed to get stuck in his torso, blazing it with fire. 

He licked at the few beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip. This felt like swimming with the sharks. He never did it. But that probably came damn close. 

The floorboards creaked one after the other, something big approaching. The Jaws theme started playing. 

This is the most backward domination strategy. But this is Hargrove. One of the few people who can outmatch Steve at fuckedupness. Never one to lose after all. 

Steve licked his lips in anticipation. Billy was a big guy. It probably was a tight fit under that table. Hunched on an all fours. Trying to prove a point.

Maybe he could match Steve’s rabid state. Two freaks in the same place at the same time.

His heart skipped a few bits, only to pump like a maniac a second after. He felt a face collide right with his crotch, nudging at his balls. 

He can see none of it. And hopefully, no one in this room can either. 

Hands secured over his thighs, squeezing for the go-ahead. Steve shivered, partying them. As if he’d say no. 

He should. 

But he won’t. 

Billy squeezed his inner thigh before biting it through the jeans, leaving a wet mark behind. 

The zipper lowered loudly. To Steve’s ears, everyone must’ve heard it by now. 

He lowered his jeans and underwear just enough to free up his cock. A muffled whistled followed. Steve wanted to kick him for being so loud. Then again, something warm spread in his chest and pulsed. He kind of wished to see Billy right now. 

Hot breath ghosted over the tip as a hand squeezed at him. Then the grip got lower, anchoring Steve at the root. Steve’s heart sunk for the hundredth time. Why did he think handing his dick over to Hargrove was a sound idea? 

Steve felt his cock land on something soft – a cheek. Billy smirked against him. What are you up to fucker? 

Nothing good apparently. Billy dragged the head against the stubble. Bristle by bristle. Up and down. Steve wanted to scream. He tapped it against the grain too, letting every hair bite. 

Sufficiently rubbed raw, Billy licked at the side to placate his weeping dick. Before dragging it back down. Steve bucked, just to be pinned to the chair by his hips. 

Steve wanted to scream through the wood. Youmajor _dickdickdick!_

Psychic to Steve’s inner turmoil, Billy giggled into his thigh, then bit it again, wet tongue lapping at the spot, tickling the skin. 

It went on until Billy’s jaw was all wet with precome, dick sliding through too easily. Which is bad in Billy’s books. So he came up with another torture tactic. 

He thumbed at his raw head spreading the precome around, which was nice. Then he lapped at it for a bit, almost apologetically for what’s about to happen, before digging an edge of his nail into the slit. How Steve didn’t whale he doesn’t know. He felt the blunt edge in his kidneys. Almost as if Billy was fucking him with it. 

Steve turned his gaze up to the ceiling. This must be hell. And Billy is king here. He contemplated sneaking a hand under the table to feel for those horns, but that’d just get his fingers bit off. 

Billy let up, satisfied, and pursed his lips against the tip letting the saliva pull over it. Then thoroughly tonged at the sore spot. 

His hand went to Steve’s balls, lightly squeezing. For now. Steve wanted to run. As fast as he could. And as far away as possible. He’s about to get his balls crushed in a public library. And he apparently asked for it!

Before completely freaking out, he felt hair against his thighs, Billy dipping low to pull his sack into his mouth, humming over it. 

Steve wondered if he was getting special treatment. Or Billy is that diligent of a cocksuccer. Or he somehow got Hargrove’s heart to thaw – with his cock – and not hurt him too badly. 

He changed his mind. All he wants for Christmas is for this to go on forever. To stay at this sweet spot of his body not being his. And his thoughts out of reach. Bleeding pleasure, that he doesn’t really feel. He's just jelly for Billy to chew on.

When Billy finally swallowed him down all Steve wanted to mutter is _thankyouthankyouthankyou_. He ached, and was chafed and had so much endorphins pumping through he could run a marathon.

He pushed in deeper, almost down to the hilt. Billy only pushed forward, as if he was trying to get his throat torn. 

Just a few sucks and nails digging into his legs brought Steve over the edge. He came, tasting blood, biting through his skin, tooth stuck in the knuckle. Billy sucked him dry, milking for every last drop like Steve was lunch. 

Steve felt lips pressing a kiss against the tip before Billy tucked him away. He reappeared on the other side, heaving. 

Billy winked at him again, idly stretching and then popping his gum right back. 

_Gross_. It lost its flavor already. Probably tastes like weak strawberry and balls. Steve wanted it.

“Hey,” he croaked, spooking Hargrove, having been silent for so long. They both looked like hell. 

“Sharing is caring,” he pointed at his mouth. 

Hargrove reluctantly pulled out the gum, waving it, confused. Steve could reach it over the table because he had longer legs after all. 

He popped it in his mouth, Hargrove watching him with round eyes. It tasted just as he thought. He winked at Billy, both eyes closing. It was Billy’s turn to squirm in his seat. 

“I- akhm…” Billy pointed towards the bathrooms. “See you around,” he shrugged to himself, awkwardly shuffling towards them. 

Steve nodded without looking up afraid that seeing Hargrove’s behind will start giving him ideas. Spit cooling on his dick, he finally could think with the right head again. And all he wanted was to undo that. 


End file.
